


Incandescent and Adolescent (Wonders Never Cease)

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: 1930s, Because It's Even Better Than This, Human Disaster Garcia Flynn, I Swear Half This Shit is Just Me Quoting the Musical, It's All the Musical, It's So Very Garcy, Multi, Please Do Not Credit Me For the Banter, She Loves Me AU, So Much Quoting, The Date of This is Nebulous But I Set it in the Early Thirties, They Got So Sappy in Their Letters, Ultimate Garcy Aesthetic, Which You All Need to Watch, i hate them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:06:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston have resented each other from their first meeting. Absolutely, one hundred percent, no warm feelings whatsoever, resented each other. Good thing they’ve each got a wonderful pen pal to whom they can pour their heart out……oh wait.





	Incandescent and Adolescent (Wonders Never Cease)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks first to Chelsea who got me into this musical in the first place, to GoodbyeYellowBrickRoad for encouraging me, and for extasiswings and captainofthefallen for letting me text song lyrics at them.

_Dear Friend,_

_The line that I feel most stuck out to me—or rather the passage—was the one in which Homer says,_

_“O muse, tell me of the man of many wiles, the man who wandered many paths of exile after he sacked Troy’s sacred citadel. He saw the cities—mapped the minds—of many; and on the sea, his spirit suffered every adversity—to keep his life intact, to bring his comrades back.”_

_I know it is… hardly original to be most struck with the opening lines of a story but it’s resonated with me. I think between the war and losing Lorena…_

_But then, I’m being maudlin and the weather is far too nice for that. I hope that your summer is going well and that the job hunt is successful. You’re the smartest girl in town, I know you’ll find something._

_As always I remain,_

_Your friend_

* * *

It was a beautiful day in June as Rufus walked up through the streets to get to Christopher’s Perfumery. The sun was shining, the air was clear, the birds were chirping, the bike was about to run him over…

Oh _fuck_.

Rufus jumped out of the way as Jiya came careening around the corner in her bike. “Morning Rufus!”

Rufus raised an eyebrow at her. “How many people have you run over today?”

Jiya parked the bike in front of the shop. “Not one.”

“Well. It’s still early.”

Jiya grinned and nudged him, jerking her chin down the street. “Jess and Wyatt hooked up again last night.”

“What!?” Rufus gaped at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, they think they’re being subtle but a sack of bricks to the face is more subtle than Wyatt.” Jiya nudged him again. “I’ll bet you ten that it ends in disaster.”

“Hold on, I think Jess could be good for him, I’m taking that bet.”

“Oh so you think they’ll work out?”

“…with maybe some bumps along the way, but yes.”

“Care to increase the wager? Loser buys the winner dinner.”

Rufus stare at her. He wanted to say that he’d buy Jiya any time, any where, and not with the excuse of a bet, just because—because she was chaotic and whip smart and beautiful and funny and loved Jules Verne just as he did and—

“Morning!” Jess said, walking up in the same dress she’d worn yesterday. “Ugh, it’s too nice to be inside, I’ve got no energy at all.”

“Late night?” Jiya said cheerfully.

Rufus elbowed her.

“Jess, you look lovely this morning,” Wyatt said, walking up.

“It’s the same dress she has on yesterday,” Jiya pointed out, because Jiya had no sense of self-preservation.

Wyatt and Jess both went pink but ignored her.

“Oh, look, it’s everyone,” Emma drawled as she walked up.

Jess and Emma pointedly ignored each other. Before Wyatt had come onto the scene, Emma and Jess had done… something. Rufus wasn’t clear on exactly what, but it hadn’t ended well, and then Wyatt had been hired and Jess had started going around with him—mostly to stick it to Emma at first, Rufus was pretty sure—and it had made the animosity between Jess and Emma worse.

“Any particular reason we’re all standing around?” Flynn asked. “Is a feral dog stuck inside the shop and you’re scared to go in?”

“Hilarious, as always,” Wyatt said, deadpan. “Denise isn’t here yet, we can’t get in.”

“Did you talk to her about hiring a new salesperson?” Jess asked.

Flynn shook his head and Rufus’s hopes faded—along with everyone else’s, he was sure. “Dinner last night she talked about how we just can’t afford someone new. Not with how the shop’s been doing.”

“But _Hammerschmidt’s_ is closed,” Jiya pointed out. “We’ll get all their customers. Business will pick up.”

“Denise is adamant. We’ve been barely scraping by as it is. And I wasn’t going to press the point in front of Michelle and the kids.”

“Speak of the devil,” Wyatt said quickly.

Everyone straightened up as Denise walked over. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully but briskly, her usual manner—as if nothing was the matter.

Rufus knew that Denise would never show any worry to the rest of them. Flynn was the only one who’d been with her long enough to earn that. Rufus didn’t know the details, but Flynn had lost his wife and child a few years back and Denise and Michelle had picked up the pieces. Rufus supposed that after that, Denise probably felt she could crack a little around Flynn and he wouldn’t judge.

Denise opened the shop and they all went in, getting things ready for the day. Wyatt started restocking the shelves, Jess got the till, and Jiya started getting together packages to be delivered—Denise had customers who had monthly packages delivered to them with all the cosmetics they required. Denise, who was expecting a delivery herself, went into the back.

Rufus grinned at Flynn. “Another day, huh?”

“Perfect day for a picnic,” Flynn grumbled.

“We’ll get through it.” Rufus smiled at Jiya as she walked by, his chest fluttering when she smiled back.

Flynn snorted. “Oh yeah. _We_ will.”

Rufus ignored him.

* * *

Flynn was going over some Mona Lisa cold cream orders with Wyatt when Denise entered, proud as could be, some wooden boxes in hand. “Ta da!”

Flynn raised an eyebrow at her. “Ta da what.”

Denise set the boxes down on one of the glass countertops that were strategically placed around the perfumery and straightened her suit jacket. Denise was the only woman in the shop who wore suits all the time instead of dresses and skirts—and she looked damn good doing it. Even in the particular dance halls that Flynn and Denise had visited together, back before he’d met Lorena, Denise had stood out from the crowd. Those dance halls were where Denise had met Michelle, incidentally.

“Ta da these, you sourpuss,” Denise replied, patting the boxes. “Look at these!”

She picked one up and walked over, showing it to Flynn.

“What is it? A jewelry box? A makeup box?”

“It’s a musical cigarette box.” Denise opened it and music played out.

“…that sounds like something Mason would think up.”

Denise rolled her eyes. “You’re such a cynic. Emma, what do you think?”

“I think it’s absolutely charming,” Emma replied, all smiles for the boss.

“There, you see?” Denise said, turning away to place the box back with the others.

The moment her back was turned, Flynn glared at Emma, who glared right back. He was the only one, he was pretty sure, who knew that Emma had cheated on Jess with some rich trust fund brat to try and marry him for his money—Nicholas something—and he’d hated Emma with a passion ever since. How could he not, after walking into the back room and finding Jess crying her poor eyes out, her blonde hair all in disarray and sobbing so hard she was hiccuping?

Wyatt might have been an idiot, but at least he wasn’t a cheating one, and if Jess wanted to get a rebound out of him then Flynn said more power to her. Wyatt was pretty enough for it, anyway.

It pissed Flynn off all the more because before that, he’d liked Emma. She was smart, acerbic, had the same biting sense of humor that Flynn did—but he couldn’t stand anyone who toyed with people like that.

“I think they’ll be quite popular,” Denise said, and Flynn snapped back to attention as Emma swanned into the back room. “Care to make a little wager? I bet you we’ll sell the first one within the hour.”

“How much are we wagering?”

“Ten and six. That’s how much one of the boxes costs.”

Flynn gaped at her. “Ten and six? Denise, I’m not wagering—”

Denise got a gleam in her eye and oh, Flynn knew that look. It was the same look Denise got in the Great War when Flynn said _you couldn’t snipe the guy from that distance, Denise, are you insane?_ “You think you’ll lose.”

“Oh, that’s it, fine, ten and six.” Flynn pointed at her. “But you’d better be ready to pay up.”

“You’re going to pay through the nose.”

The door opened, signaling customers, and Denise went upstairs to the back office to take care of accounts.

Flynn darted over to Rufus’s counter.

“Rufus!” he hissed. “Rufus, I got another letter!”

“From Dear Friend?”

Flynn pulled the letter out of his pocket. “Yes, it’s just—it’s darling. She’s darling.”

“Did she enclose a photo?”

“…ah…”

Rufus stared at him, deadpan. “You didn’t ask her for one, did you?”

“I mean. Well. I’m sure we’ll… get around to it. In time.”

“Don’t you want to know what she looks like?”

“Well, yes, of course, but then she’ll want to know what I look like, and…”

“And what.” Rufus leaned around. “Hey! Jess! Jiya!”

The two women looked over.

Rufus gestured at Flynn. “What do you think, scale of one to ten?”

“Ten,” Jess said.

“Ten,” Jiya said.

“Ten,” Wyatt said.

Everyone stared at Wyatt.

Wyatt coughed and went back to reshelving, the tips of his ears pink.

“See?”

Flynn glared at him. “Look, I’m—this sounds like a younger woman, and I’m… I’m older. I’ve had a wife and child already. I’m not exactly a… a catch.”

Rufus looked like he vehemently disagreed with that, but gestured at the letter. “Go on, read it.”

Flynn opened it and cleared his throat, double checking that none of the others were close enough to hear him. “Dear Friend. Yesterday morning I ran through the rain to the post office. I had the key in my hand, the key to box 1433, trembling. I opened the door and reached inside and oh my dear friend, there you were. I held you and looked at you for a moment, and I sat down, gently opened you, and read you.”

“Is this what you two consider… sexual writing?”

Flynn smacked him on the shoulder.

“It’s a valid question!” Rufus hissed. “That’s pretty damn—my heart was pounding, I opened you and so forth?”

“She’s adorable,” Flynn said stubbornly.

Not that he hadn’t… of course he had… well. He was human. After he’d lost Lorena and Iris, he hadn’t really thought about sex. But then, he hadn’t thought about much of anything. Denise had been kind enough to invite him to weekly dinners—that’s how that tradition had begun—and Michelle had plied him with food and slowly but surely, he’d started to mend.

The whole lonely hearts club idea was not his. It was Michelle’s. She’d insisted that he needed to meet someone, and Flynn had said he didn’t, and Michelle had worn him down and helped him to write an advertisement in the personal column with all the others.

To his surprise, he had gotten a response. A few, actually. But only one had stood out to him.

_Dear sir,_

_If you are in need of a friend, then we find ourselves in the same boat. I am listening to Swan Lake as I write this, and I find myself lately connecting with the poor swan princess as I never have—but also with her counterpart. The black swan never asked for any of this either, as far as we know. What was she thinking, I wonder, when her father the wizard made her impersonate the princess? Did she comply easily, or did her father have to coerce her?_

_Perhaps this is a trifle too intimate of a thought to share, but then at least you can see how desperately I am in need of a friend the same as you. I’m thirty-six, and I work as a salesgirl, and if I go to one more dance hall I will stab someone, I’m sure of it. I love history and the classics. My favorite artist is Renoir._

_I hope that you will write me back._

_Sincerely,_

_A friend_

How could Flynn have possibly resisted a letter like that? He had written in return at once and had gotten a reply within a few days. Now it had been two months, and his dear friend had progressed to speaking with such breathless anticipation of his letters that Flynn felt a bit faint.

It was why he was so hesitant to ask for her name and picture. If he did, and she asked for his, and he gave it, then she’d want to meet up, wouldn’t she? And then… how could he possibly be anything but disappointing to her?

In his letters he could take his time, be witty and insightful, discuss _The Odyssey_ and _Anna Karenina_ and Chopin. If he said something he regretted he could throw the letter away and start it over. In real life… he was the sort of man who put his foot in his mouth around people to whom he was attracted. He was cranky, didn’t like people, and often cutting in his remarks. He was a war veteran and a grieving widow. And he was so very ordinary, an ordinary clerk in an ordinary shop.

What woman could possibly want him?

Didn’t stop him dreaming about her, though. Didn’t stop him from wanting to write to her far more risqué things than the coy, possibly-flirtatious description of opening a letter that he’d just read to Rufus. He was human, damn it, and over time he’d come to wish that he could kiss her soundly for some of the things she wrote to him, or run his fingers through her hair when she talked about her lost sister and her struggles with her mother and her failed engagement.

Of course he wanted her. Of course. But if he let himself think about it too much—when meeting up could only lead to her disappointment and his heartbreak—

No. Better to think of her simply as adorable and leave it at that.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_I hope I’m not overstepping. It is only that I remember you mentioning that the anniversary of the loss of your wife and little girl was in June, and it is June now. You said that you liked chocolate covered oranges and so I hope that this package will not have melted horribly by the time that it reaches you. The sweet and sour mixing seems to fit you very well, I think. Not that you have ever been anything but sweet to me._

_I have started to give Persuasion a second chance per your suggestion. I confess that the wit of Pride & Prejudice still remains my favorite but I am connecting with Anne far more than I did before. Perhaps that was because the last time I read it I was only eighteen and now… I understand so much more. Sometimes I feel as though I am living Anne’s life._

_I hope that, whatever day the anniversary is, you are not alone._

_I remain always,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Lucy entered the shop, _Christopher’s_ , nervously. After her previous shop had been forced to close down she had been crisscrossing all over town trying to find a new one. But even with the lovely letter of recommendation from Mr. Hammerschmidt, she had yet to find employment.

And rent was due.

Lucy smoothed out her dress—the light blue one she wore for luck—and looked around for the owner, Mrs. Christopher. Was she the intimidating looking redhead? Or the blonde with the adorable nose and big dark eyes? Or the slim girl with the sharp features and tan skin?

Suddenly her line of sight was cut off and she had to take a step back as—as an extremely good looking but, um, very tall man walked up to her. He had dark hair and very entrancing eyes, and was quite broad in the chest.

“Good day madam, may I help you?” the man asked.

“No,” Lucy blurted out.

They stared at one another awkwardly. “All right…” the man said slowly.

He started to walk away and Lucy called after him, “I mean, yes!”

He looked back at her. “We have a large selection of…”

“No, no, I mean—I’m not here to buy anything.” She clutched at her purse for dear life.

The man stared at her. “All right. Then why are you here.”

Lucy took a deep breath. “I’m here for a job.”

The man sighed, an _are you kidding me_ smile gracing his mouth for a moment. “I’m afraid we’re not—”

“I’m a very good worker!” Lucy blurted out. She started rifling through her purse. “Honest, I am. I have a letter of recommendation from my previous boss that says as much. It says that I’m hardworking, dependable…”

It was in here somewhere. Lucy took out her other things and started handing them to the man to hold: her lipstick, her coin purse, her journal…

The man exchanged a look with the dark-skinned man behind one of the counters. “It’s in here somewhere,” Lucy promised. She knew she’d… oh!

She pulled the letter out of her bra. The man’s cheeks got pink. “Here it is!”

She took all of her things back and put them in her purse, double checking that none of her precious letters had fallen out. She kept all of her Dear Friend letters in there.

Lucy handed the letter of recommendation to the man, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss…”

“Preston. Lucy Preston.”

“Miss Preston. We’re simply not hiring right…”

“But if you’ll just let me speak to Mrs. Christopher—” She needed this job, needed it so very badly, she couldn’t get a no.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” A woman’s firm voice said. “Nothing is impossible here.”

Lucy turned to see a distinguished and beautiful older woman in a suit walking over. She had straight dark hair, and glittering dark eyes. “My dear, perhaps I can assist you, I am the owner.”

“I’m looking for a job,” Lucy told her.

Mrs. Christopher looked at the man. “Flynn, honestly, you can’t deal with this?”

“You ask that like I called you over here,” Flynn replied dryly.

She couldn’t not get this job. She needed it, she…

Oh.

A woman was standing at one of the counters and inspecting a dark wooden box. Lucy took off her gloves, handing them and her purse to Flynn, who took them automatically, gaping at her.

Lucy marched over to the woman. “Aren’t these marvelous?” she said. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest and she could feel all the salespeople starting to stare at her. “And just look at the craftsmanship.”

She took the box from the woman and opened it—only for music to start playing.

Lucy nearly dropped the damn box. What—

Behind her, she heard Flynn try to stifle an amused snort.

That lit a fire under her. That man was not going to get to laugh at her, oh no. She was going to be the one on top after all this.

“What a lovely tune!” Lucy smiled at the woman. “And only ten and six, can you imagine?”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s… why it’s… it’s a musical candy box,” Lucy asserted. “Yes, you see, the music plays when you open it, to remind you not to eat so much candy. My mother swears by them—they’re the latest thing, from Paris.”

She had no idea if they were from Paris and her mother had never met a musical candy box in her life, but whatever worked to get a sale.

The customer inspected the box for a moment more. “Hmm. I’ll take it.”

Lucy’s knees nearly gave out. “Thank you madam, I’ll direct you to—um—over here,” she said, gesturing at the blonde who was standing at the counter near the door, “to get your things packaged and rung up.”

The blonde was gaping at her, but quickly cleared her throat. “Yes, madam, right this way, I’m Jess and I’ll help you out.”

Lucy turned around once the customer was being handled, beaming at Flynn, who was looking at her like she had sprouted a second head. “I’m sure you have a position open now,” she told him.

“Indeed we do,” Mrs. Christopher said, walking over and holding out her hand. “Miss?”

“Preston. Lucy Preston.”

She took her things back from Flynn, who was still standing there, frozen. Shock was a good look on him. “Thank you for holding these,” she said sweetly.

Flynn snapped his mouth shut and then said, “Wyatt, what did you want me to look at?”

“I didn’t want you to—” A sandy-haired man started to say, but then Flynn gave him a look that would have sent an advancing army scrambling backwards, and Wyatt recanted. “I mean, yeah, sure, it’s in the back room.”

Flynn gave Lucy a stiff half-bow. “I’ll see you later then, Miss Preston.”

Lucy stared after him, then watched as Mrs. Christopher stopped him and said something about _our bet_. Flynn rolled his eyes, dug ten and six out of his pocket, and passed it to her, before disappearing into the back.

Huh. Upset that she’d caused him to lose a bet? Well. He’d get over it.

And she had a job!

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_With November just around the corner, I’ve a feeling that you may also sense the odd undertone of discord and tension that I feel in the air lately. If it were not for your endearing letters, I’d be flying south with all the geese._

_It is with that thought in mind—the thought that you are sometimes all that is keeping me here—that I am so bold as to ask you my next question._

_Would you like to meet up?_

_The holidays are coming and they are hard every year. They always have been, a bit. My family is Jewish and Christian and we are not the most observant in either but Christmas brings with it such an oppressive atmosphere of one half of me while the other half is ignored and it seems to stir up in me those familiar sensations of being lost, not knowing who I am. Then after Father died it got even worse and then with the loss of Amy…_

_It is very difficult._

_And so I thought that perhaps they could be made easier by your presence. If you would like—the first week of December, on Tuesday, I thought we might meet up? There is a lovely café and it would be very simple, if you’d like. We need only have coffee. I thought I would bring my copy of Anna Karenina so that you might recognize me._

_Please say yes, my dear friend. I feel selfish for asking anything of you but if I could converse with you in person, see your face and hear your voice, I’m sure that I could make it through all right._

_I remain as ever,_

_Your friend_

* * *

To say that Flynn and Lucy did not get along was like saying that time passed. Both were true facts, but neither fully encompassed exactly what was happening.

Summer reached its height and turned slowly into autumn, and along with it, Flynn and Lucy snarked at one another.

“Ah, Miss Preston,” Flynn said one morning in September. “I see that you’re on time today.”

“Disappointed, Flynn?” she asked in response, a dangerously sharp edge in her voice.

Rufus and Jiya, who were unabashedly eavesdropping, winced.

“Oh, no, I’m not disappointed. Let’s just call it…” Flynn pretended to think for a moment. “Surprised.”

Lucy gave an obviously fake laugh, then slammed the door in his face.

“Why do they always do that?” Wyatt asked, walking up behind them.

Jess stormed past. Wyatt caught her arm. “Jess, you look really beautiful this morning. Um, I’m sorry about last night, I hate it when we quarrel, don’t you?”

Jess lit a cigarette, and pointedly looked at her arm.

Wyatt let go, looking abashed.

Jess’s smile was like ice. “Go to hell,” she told him, and then entered the store.

“They do that,” Rufus said, tactfully ignoring the kerfluffle with Jess to answer Wyatt’s question, “because they like each other.”

“That is not how people act when they like each other.”

“Because you’re an expert, Mr. I Don’t Know Why My Girlfriend is Mad at Me?” Jiya asked.

Wyatt flushed. “Well if you think it’s because they secretly like each other, don’t you think you should tell them?”

Rufus snorted. “Yeah, right, as if they’d believe us.”

Then in November, Flynn was reading one of his Dear Friend letters and smiling softly, while Lucy was writing in her ever-present journal, and the two of them bumped into each other.

“Would it be too much to ask that you look where you’re going, Miss Preston?” Flynn asked.

“I don’t know, Flynn, would it be too much to ask that you wear a decent tie?” Lucy shot back.

Flynn gaped after her as she entered the shop. “There’s nothing wrong with black!”

“If you’re at a funeral, maybe!” Lucy replied over her shoulder.

Rufus and Jiya had won and lost so many bets to one another at that point that they’d given up. Between Lucy and Flynn, and then Wyatt being an idiot who didn’t understand that Jess wanted him to shit or get off the pot and so kept confusedly asking why she was angry with him, Rufus had his fair share of drama in the workplace.

And then Denise joined the fray.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_Have you set your calendar for Tuesday? I confess I have the date marked in red on mine. I am, to quote the good Captain Wentworth, half agony, half hope. I can only delay my fears over what you will think of me by dwelling on my excitement over meeting you. In the freezing weather of December, it warms me to think of getting to see you in person at last._

_Until then, count the hours,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Flynn’s day was supposed to be going well.

It was the night of his date with Dear Friend.

Tonight he had to somehow sit down next to the smartest girl in town, the most wonderful passionate intelligent girl in town, and manage to have an articulate conversation.

Breathing was kind of a problem right now.

But instead of getting to spend his day in breathless anticipation (and nerves) over their rendezvous that evening, he walked in and got yelled at by Denise.

Again.

“Flynn!” Denise walked out from the back office, waving a small tube. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a tube of Mona Lisa Cold Cream,” Flynn replied evenly.

Jess and Wyatt suddenly forgot they were supposed to be fighting and dashed into the back room together to hide from the oncoming storm. Rufus watched nervously from the sidelines, while Emma looked like this was the best entertainment she’d had all week.

“Great.” Denise handed him the tube. “Try using it.”

Flynn opened it, and squeeze a little of the cream out onto his hand—only for the tube to explode out the back and for cream to get all over his new jacket.

Fucking— _fuck_. He’d bought this specifically for tonight!

“Are you not in charge of filling these, Flynn?” Denise asked. “Or are the tubes defective?”

“No, I don’t think it’s the tubes,” Flynn replied, a growl working its way into his voice before he could stop it. Denise was treading on thin fucking ice with this rank she was pulling. She was his boss, and she’d been his captain in the war, and he respected her, but if she was going to keep being a grade A—

“Then would it be asking too much,” Denise snapped, “for the cream to come out the right end?”

Flynn swallowed, speaking through gritted teeth. “No.”

“Thank you Flynn.” She snatched the tube from him. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

She stalked off as Flynn seriously contemplated murdering his best friend of two decades.

“Shit, Flynn.” Rufus hurried over with a tissue. “You’ve still got Mona Lisa on your jacket.”

“Fuck.” Flynn held still while Rufus wiped it off. “Did it stain?”

“Nope, you’re good.”

“Thank God.”

“Jesus Christ you’re vibrating, is Denise getting to you that badly?”

“No. I mean—yes. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her the last couple of months but I’m about to put her on bed rest if you know what I mean.” Flynn sighed as Rufus threw the tissue away. “But that’s not the real reason why I’m nervous. I’m—I’m meeting her tonight.”

Rufus stared. “The letter girl?”

“Yup.” Flynn sank down onto one of the stools they used for customers. “Face to face at last.”

“You don’t look excited.”

“I’m nervous. Upset.”

“Worried that she won’t live up to your expectations?”

“No, that she will!” Flynn ran a hand through his hair. “I hope that she’s not as beautiful as I think she is, or as brilliant as I think she is, because if so… what is she going to think of me? An ordinary clerk in an ordinary shop with more baggage than anyone could possibly handle and an attitude problem?”

“I think that if she’s worth you, then she’ll know how to handle you when you get an attitude,” Rufus replied.

Flynn snorted. “Try telling that to Miss Preston.”

Rufus opened his mouth, got a weird look on his face, then closed his mouth. “Well. If it doesn’t go well then you can… part ways, right?”

“But I—Rufus I can’t just part ways with her. God I’d propose to her on the spot if I could, Rufus, and all I can think about when I picture tonight is that I’ll sit there in idiotic silence or I’ll start rambling about the most stupid things and either way I’ll look insane and she’ll want nothing to do with me.”

“Jesus Christ, I wasn’t sure you were that gone on her,” Rufus said. “Especially since you li—since you haven’t even got her picture, I mean.”

Flynn eyed Rufus suspiciously, but Rufus just blinked back at him, guileless. Flynn sighed. “I know her, Rufus. Her family, her fears, her joys, her favorite kind of soap and her thoughts on the Romantic poets. Maybe I don’t know what she looks like, yet, but I’d marry her if she’d have me. I just don’t know that she’ll feel the same way about me.”

“Well.” Rufus straightened out Flynn’s jacket. “If she’s got half a brain, she’ll feel the same way about you that you do about her. Just try and make it to tonight without getting arrested for murder, okay?”

Flynn let out a long, slow breath. He could do this.

He hoped.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_I greatly enjoyed War and Peace, more than I thought I would, but I confess that Anna still has a hold on me. The way that you spoke of seeing her in every train station was so heartfelt, I must have read your letter a dozen times over._

_I almost wish you could see me when I go to check my mailbox—or perhaps I don’t. What would you think of a woman in her thirties as enthusiastic as a child in a candy shop, clutching a letter to her as if it contained the salvation for her very life? I must appear most ridiculous to the postal workers._

_Your gift of strawberry soap was most kind. It helps me to remember Amy when I use it. I confess I hadn’t thought you’d remember—you really don’t have to give me things like that. I know it’s expensive, which is why I haven’t bought any myself lately. I don’t want you to trouble yourself for me._

_I truly do love it, though._

_Very much._

_As always I am,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

“Oh!” Jess gasped as Lucy entered. “You’re all new!”

Lucy was indeed ‘new’. She had on her burgundy dress, the one carefully selected after a whole Saturday of searching, smooth velvet making a form-fitting silhouette with capped sleeves, a wrap-style top, and a wraparound velvet tie in the middle with a sparkling brooch that fastened on the side.

“I am,” Lucy said, gesturing at herself. “Do you like it?”

“You look amazing!” Jess took her hands and whirled her around. “Doesn’t she look lovely?” she asked everyone else, giving them all stern looks.

“Oh, yes, great,” Wyatt, Emma, Jiya, and Rufus chorused.

“Looks to me like someone’s in love,” Wyatt teased. “And you have a date with him tonight.”

“How’d you guess?” Lucy asked.

“Mr. Logan is an expert on love,” Jess said dryly. “Which is truly remarkable, seeing as he’s never been in it.”

Wyatt spluttered, and Flynn emerged from the back. “Morning, Miss Preston,” he said distractedly.

Lucy gaped after him. “He didn’t yell at me for being late.”

“Denise has already had it out with him once,” Jess whispered. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her the past couple of months. And you know Flynn gets the worst of it.”

It was true. Lucy didn’t know why—perhaps it was that Denise and Flynn had known one another for so long that she felt comfortable taking out her frustrations on him—but it wasn’t fair. Flynn loved the store just as much as Denise did and was the hardest working person there.

“I’ll just go into the back,” she said. “Stay out of his way.”

Jess nodded.

“You want to help me wrap the presents for our customers who ordered gift wrapping?” Jiya asked.

“Oh, yes please.”

They got settled into the back of the shop and Lucy collapsed onto a chair. “It took me three hours to get ready this morning. I couldn’t decide what to do with my hair. I’m never like this but…”

“But…” Jiya prompted, passing Lucy some wrapping.

“Oh, thank God, I was so sick of filling those darn tubes of Mona Lisa.”

Jiya got an odd look on her face. “So, this person?”

“Oh, yes. So.” Lucy began wrapping. “It’s been almost a year and I’m so very stupidly in love with him, Jiya, it’s absolutely foolish, I’d slap myself if I thought that would get me to stop acting so ridiculous. And I just want him to like me so very badly.”

“How could he not like you? Everyone loves you.”

“Flynn doesn’t.”

Jiya got that odd look on her face again. “Well, what’s this man look like? Is he tall?”

“Average.”

“What about his hair?”

“Darkish.”

“…and his eyes?”

“Greenish-bluish-brownish.”

Jiya stared at her. “And is he handsome?”

“You know sometimes he is, and then sometimes he’s not.”

Jiya looked like she was wondering if she had taken a wrong turn somewhere and was in an insane asylum instead of at her job. “You want a piece of good advice? Don’t lose him in a crowd.”

Lucy groaned and Jiya laughed. “All right, you want to know the truth?”

“Yes. You’re a horrible liar.”

“I’ve never met him in person. This is our first time. I… I started up a lonely hearts club correspondence.”

“Lucy!” Jiya elbowed her, wrapping paper forgotten. “How—what!? I’ve seen them in the papers but, I mean, c’mon. How can you tell if someone’s telling the truth? Most people in there are so desperate anyway—I mean I get wanting a life partner but they want to jump so quickly into marriage that you can’t even breathe.”

“As if you get to judge, how long have you been waiting on Rufus to ask you out?” Lucy shot back. “And besides—maybe I don’t know what he looks like, but I know what his values are. I know what makes him laugh, and I know about his past. I know his family and his history, I know his fears and his dreams and his sorrows. I know his favorite books and music… what really matters about a person, his character, that’s what I know. The real him. What are looks or some superficial habits compared to that?”

“You don’t know what he’s like when he’s irritated, though. Or what he’s like when he’s had a bad day. Or if he grinds his teeth or his eating habits or if he snores.”

“So?”

“Fine then. Tell me about how wonderful he is. I love to suffer.”

“Oh, it was… I don’t usually answer these advertisements, but… it was right after my sister died. Amy. And my mother and I were in a bad place, and I was terribly lonely. Terribly, terribly lonely. And this advertisement just… caught my eye.”

Lucy went over to her purse and took the piece of paper out. “I know it’s silly but I’ve saved it in my journal. I keep all my personal papers in there.”

She brought it over and showed Jiya the advertisement.

_Gentleman seeks friend with whom to correspond. Love of Dvořák and Tchaikovsky preferred, Wagner lovers need not apply. Appreciation for the art of sarcasm a must._

Jiya snorted. “It’s not the most romantic of advertisements. Don’t most of them talk about a young man wanting a young lady to share… I don’t know, blossoming love or something?”

“That’s just what drew me to it. I couldn’t enter a correspondence with someone who only wanted a wife. I wanted to truly get to know someone. Someone… with whom I could be a friend. And then if it went somewhere, well, it might, and then if it didn’t… he didn’t even specify a gender. I thought that nice.” Lucy put the advertisement back in her journal. “So I answered him, talking about _Swan Lake_ , and from there…”

She crossed back to her purse and put the journal away. “We’ve been exchanging letters since early April. I get one about twice a week. And he sends me presents, like books and strawberry soap and chocolates. I’ve sent him a few things as well, just little things, you know. A pocket handkerchief I thought he’d like, and a small booklet on Abraham Lincoln, and chocolate covered oranges.”

“Lucy—you realize that’s so goddamn cute I could throw up, right?”

“He just… he says the most… tender things.” Lucy could feel her face flushing, just thinking about it.

“Like what?” Jiya leaned forward eagerly.

“Oh, you know… he thinks that it’s adorable that I put little faces in my ‘o’s, and he tells me about these long walks he takes along the river at night and how he counts the stars, and about his mother baking for him when he was a child, and his thoughts all about opera and the ballet and how he’d like to take me…”

“Lucy, the man sounds like he’s completely in love with you.”

“Well…” Lucy sat back down. “It’s not really me, is it?”

“What? After you just went on about how you know the real him, you think you can’t say the same the other way around?”

“Well, I mean, in my letters I can be so sophisticated and confident. But in person, I’m just, well. You’ve seen me with Flynn. Open mouth and insert foot, that’s me.”

“But he knows you!”

“My heart, yes, but what about my… my appearance, my voice, my manner—what if they all disappoint him?”

Jiya took her hands. “They won’t. You’re beautiful, inside and out, Lucy. He’ll love you. Going from what you’ve told me, he already does.”

That reassured her a little. But… “Are you sure that you’re in any position to be giving romantic advice?” she asked shrewdly.

Jiya dropped her hands. “That’s not the same thing at all.”

“How long have you been waiting for Rufus to ask you out?”

Jiya sighed. “All right. You go to this dinner, and I’ll ask Rufus out, does that sound like a plan?”

Oh, yes, Lucy could not wait to see this in action. “Deal.”

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_Though it’s been many years since the war, and for the most part I like to consider myself beyond it, there are times when I wake up at night and I swear I am back in the trenches._

_Which is why you will find this extremely rambling letter delivered to you. It’s half past one, and I simply can’t get to sleep again._

_I find myself currently thinking of you, and Paris, in the rain. I think it’s because in your last letter you said that your favorite painting was Renoir’s The Umbrellas. I can imagine you look good in dark blue, although I also fancy for some reason that you would look even better in burgundy. I’d love to take you to Paris. I haven’t been in far too long, and you could practice your French and we could visit the museums, with all the history that you love so much._

_I am going to mail this letter now, before I change my mind and throw it in to the fire. I fear that either way I will regret writing it in the morning. I don’t know why I’m afraid of sharing it with you—perhaps because I’m afraid that despite all we have shared, this will be too far._

_I wish for you, and for Paris. But mostly for you._

_Forever,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

“Flynn!” Denise yelled, entering.

Flynn wondered if this was delayed punishment for the time he’d put rainwater in her captain’s hat so that she dumped it on her head when she went to put the hat on for the day. “Yes?”

“Why are there no decorations up?” Denise demanded. “It’s December.”

“Well yes but it’s just the beginning of the month. I was thinking that in a few days I would talk to you about—”

“I am sick and tired of you running to me like a baby about everything,” Denise snapped. “You all can do the Christmas decorations tonight. I’m sure you won’t mind staying late?”

Flynn’s chest tightened and his stomach churned, fire behind his eyes, in his limbs. “I actually can’t stay late. Any other night, yes, but I have an important appointment at eight this evening.”

“Well, I see what sort of devotion you have to this store,” Denise said. “We’ll get on fine without you.”

“My devotion to this store is absolute,” Flynn replied, his voice raising in spite of himself. “I couldn’t be more devoted to this store if I owned it!”

“If you owned it!” Denise’s eyes were blazing. “Listen to me, Garcia.”

Oh, his first name. This was bad.

“You will never own this store,” she hissed. “Never!”

She stormed out, grabbing Emma and Jess for help with something in the back, slamming the door behind her.

“What the hell did you do?” Wyatt asked. “Sleep with her wife?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Flynn admitted.

Lucy emerged from the back with Jiya. “Ladies,” Flynn said, “I’m afraid you’re going to need to stay late tonight, we have to put up the Christmas decorations.”

“Oh, no, I can’t, I have a date—” Lucy paused. “You know I have a date.”

Flynn scoffed. “I know no such thing!”

“How can you say that?” Lucy snapped. “Why do you think I’m wearing these new clothes, to trim a tree in?” She gestured at her—well. Her very, um, lovely and form-fitting dark red dress.

Flynn cleared his dry throat. “I’m only following Denise’s instructions.”

“I can’t stay!”

“You’re not being very cooperative, Miss Preston.”

“Well why did she have to pick tonight? Any other night would work, why this one night—oh!” Lucy gasped, appalled. “Unless _you_ picked it because you knew I had a date! You know I find it quite depressing that anyone could hate me so much.”

Flynn’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. “Hate you!? I do not hate you! But you know what, until you came here this was a happy, peaceful place—”

“You sure about that,” Rufus muttered, looking over at Wyatt, who flipped him off.

“—now everything’s changed, everyone’s cranky, Denise is on the warpath—”

“That’s not my fault,” Lucy snapped, getting up in his face.

“The Mona Lisa cream is coming out the wrong end!”

“And that’s not my fault!” Lucy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Is it?”

“You’ve been filling them!”

“According to your instructions!”

“Oh wow, look at that cobweb,” Wyatt said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yup, it’s a big one,” Jiya agreed.

Flynn forced himself to take a step back, seeing as he and Lucy were now nose to nose. She smelled rather pleasantly of strawberries. “Look, can we not fight about this? Can we call a truce?” He held out his hand.

Lucy took it, shaking it. “Certainly. After all, Flynn, you’re always the one who starts things.”

She started to turn away but Flynn tightened his hold on her hand and yanked her back to him, which put them chest to chest.

“Say what kind of spider is that?” Rufus asked, now also staring up at the cobweb.

“Oh _I’m_ the one!?” Flynn growled.

“You have always resented me,” Lucy hissed, her grip on his hand surprisingly tight. “Ever since I first came here and I made you lose that bet—for ten and six, was it? To think that someone could hate me so much just for ten and six!”

“That is nonsense!” Flynn replied—and realized he was still holding onto her hand and they were nose to nose again. Goddammit. He dropped her hand.

“Or was it your male pride that got wounded?” Lucy asked with false innocence. “Because I went over your head? Men always do seem to resent things like that.”

“I do not resent you!”

“Oh, yes you do.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake I do _not_ resent you!” Flynn snapped, and the both of them started to walk in opposite directions—until Flynn paused and rounded back again. “But _if I did_ —”

Wyatt, Jiya, and Rufus let out a collective groan.

“—I would have very good reason,” Flynn said, stalking back over to Lucy, who now had her hands on her hips and was glaring at him like she was trying to mentally put a bullet in his head. “Can you deny that you hadn’t been here for two damn weeks before you started making very public very humiliating remarks about me!?”

“Only because you were going around calling me Miss Patton!” Lucy snapped, her voice cracking a little. “Miss Lucy Patton, do you think I liked that!?”

Flynn counted off on his fingers. “Do you think I liked you criticizing my shoes, my tie, my fingernails!?”

Lucy grabbed his hand, narrowing her eyes and inspecting said fingernails. Flynn’s heart skipped a beat. “Much better!” she snapped, and then stormed off into the back room again.

“That must be the most difficult, the most obstinate, the most—most frustrating woman in the world!” Flynn snapped.

Denise walked back in and saw Flynn standing there. “Ah, hard at work as usual I see.”

Flynn wondered if the death penalty was still in effect. Might be worth the risk, surely this would fall under justifiable homicide. “I made the arrangements, everyone can stay to decorate except for Miss Preston, she has an appointment.”

“Well, seeing as you’re not staying, I can hardly force her to stay as well.”

“Any other night this week, Denise, I will be here!”

“There seem to be a great many things that interest you more than doing your job properly!” Denise snapped. “Why don’t you just—”

“You know what?” Flynn was at the end of his fucking rope. “If I piss you off so damn much, Denise, then fine! I’m quitting. You won’t have to deal with me anymore!”

“Good!” Denise snapped.

“Fine!”

Flynn stormed into the back before he could say anything worse.

Lucy was looking at something in her journal, a letter, it seemed, and she jumped when he entered. “…Flynn? Where are you going?”

Flynn put on his coat and hat. “I have good news for you, Miss Preston.” _Lucy_. He found himself wanting to say her first name, oddly, in this moment, but he didn’t dare. “You won’t be troubled with me anymore. Denise and I… I don’t know what’s wrong with her but I can’t handle it anymore.”

Lucy set aside her journal and leapt to her feet. “But… but Flynn. I. I’m sorry.”

Flynn sighed. “Let’s not leave on a lie, Miss Preston.”

He started for the door, but Lucy got in his way. “No, Flynn, I mean it. I never—I don’t wish you harm. I never have. You’ve got to believe me.”

Flynn had to clear his suddenly thick throat, his eyes burning. Lucy made a _tssk_ ing noise and gently smoothed out his jacket and tie. “You’ve gotten it all rumpled,” she murmured. “There. You look—you look very good, Flynn. The red suits you.”

She was looking up at him through her lashes, and Flynn had the urge to do something incredibly stupid like pull her in and kiss her—perhaps even do a great deal more than that.

He took a small step back, his chest burning where she’d touched him. “Thank you, Miss Preston. I hope that your appointment goes well later and—for what it’s worth, I hope—I hope Denise comes around. Don’t let Emma get on your nerves.”

“I’ll try,” Lucy whispered, offering up a small smile.

Flynn nodded at her, throat tight, and left.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_My mother nearly found your letters today when she picked up my journal. I carry it with me always, since I know she’s nosy and would read it if I left it at home. My heart nearly stopped, and at first I thought it was because I was ashamed of her finding out about you. But then I realized it wasn’t that I am ashamed. It’s that you—you are the one thing that has always been mine and mine alone._

_As I’m sure you’ve gleaned from our other letters, my mother can be very controlling. I haven’t told her about you, and I don’t intend to. You, dear friend, are my solace from everything. Those letters you wrote were for my eyes only. I could never share them with another, not beyond a few phrases. They are too special to me._

_You are too special to me._

_I feel as though with you I can share the darkness and the doubts that I can’t share with anyone else. As funny as it sounds, you are the easiest person to talk to. I wonder why that is. Perhaps it’s because we both know loss, and frustration, and have similar tastes. Perhaps it’s deeper than that._

_Perhaps it’s simply because I can’t see your face, and so I don’t have to watch your reaction to the things that I share._

_I remain,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Decorating for Christmas was a bit more subdued than it ought to have been. Emma seemed to be in annoyingly good spirits but she was the only one.

Watching Flynn get fired like that… Rufus couldn’t think of anything more unfair. What was wrong with Denise? Their levelheaded, calm, logical boss had transformed into a raging and petty person and he couldn’t understand why.

Well, he did have one idea. But surely…

“Rufus?” Jess asked, turning to him. “Have you got a pack of icicles over there?”

Jiya and Emma, who were putting garlands up on the balcony that led to Denise’s office, froze, staring in fascination.

Ah, yes, this was the other thing that was making it awkward.

Jess and Wyatt.

“Uh, I don’t see any,” Rufus said, as Wyatt wordlessly held up an icicle, pointedly not looking at Jess.

“Would you please ask Mr. Logan if he has them?” Jess asked.

Rufus sighed as Emma and Jiya exchanged a look, raising their eyebrows at one another. He turned to Wyatt. “Wyatt, Jess would like to know if you’ve got her icicles.”

“Please inform her that I have been getting nothing but icicles from her for several weeks,” Wyatt replied.

Up on the balcony, Jiya and Emma were suddenly fascinated with getting the bows on the garlands just right.

Rufus turned to Jess. “He said—”

“I heard him,” Jess replied, her voice flat. “Why else would I be laughing so uncontrollably.”

Wyatt dropped the icicles and turned to Rufus. “All right, Rufus, you answer me, what would you think of a woman who has been dating a man, tells him she loves him, and then suddenly drops him?”

“Before you answer that,” Jess said, “What would you think of a man who goes out with a woman for months and when she tells him she loves him, he freaks out and leaves!?”

“I went on a walk!”

“You were panicking!”

Rufus started slowly backing away. “I’m just gonna… take care of these icicles…”

“Okay, so maybe I was panicking, but I came back! You were just asleep!”

“Same way you panic and are conveniently out until I’m asleep whenever I bring up the subject of marriage!”

“If I had a choice,” Jiya grumbled, “I know who I’d be hanging on the Christmas tree.”

“We’re not gonna get out of here until New Year’s,” Emma concurred.

Jess and Wyatt continued arguing as the phone rang and Rufus went to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hello,” a man’s voice said, “is Mrs. Christopher there?”

“Ah, yes, one moment.” Rufus put the call on hold and called up to the office. “Denise, it’s for you!”

“If they start making out I’m gonna puke,” Emma announced, gesturing at Jess and Wyatt.

“Of course I want to marry you!” Wyatt was shouting.

“Well you’ve got a great way of showing it!” Jess replied, her voice rising in pitch and volume.

“Petition to just propose to Jess for him?” Jiya suggested.

Denise exited her office and everyone immediately fell silent. “All right, you all can go.”

Rufus frowned. “Ah, um, what?”

“You all can go. Now. Please.” Denise looked oddly unstable.

“Well if it’s all the same to you,” Rufus said, “I’d rather stay, I’ve gotten into the rhythm of it.”

That was a bald-faced lie but he wasn’t sure Denise should be left alone just then.

Denise shook her head. “Please leave.”

Everyone looked at each other, and then nodded, chorusing their understanding.

Denise disappeared into her office again. Emma got her coat and hat and left quickly. Jess and Wyatt were still arguing as they left—Jiya got her coat, but Rufus stopped her.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he whispered. “But even if I’m wrong, we can’t leave Denise alone. I say we watch her and make sure she gets home safe to Michelle.”

Jiya nodded. “We can hide in the back room.”

The front door opened, and Flynn walked in. “Rufus!”

Rufus left Jiya—when had he started holding her hand?—and walked over. “Wow, buddy, what are you doing here? It’s nine thirty, I thought you had that date at… at eight… did it end already?”

Honestly, he’d been expecting Flynn to throw himself into the date to forget his other woes, and to not hear from the man until the next morning after Flynn undoubtedly got fucked six ways to Sunday by this letter woman who was obviously so smitten with him.

But then, maybe he’d overestimated Flynn.

“I need you to come with me to Mason’s café,” Flynn said.

“Is Mason okay?”

“What?” Flynn looked confused for a moment. “Oh, yes! No! It’s not Mason.”

Mason was the owner and maitre’d of a very classy and romantic café that Denise and Michelle went to every anniversary. Rufus and Jiya had been sneaking in through the back to eat there ever since Rufus could remember, and his younger brother Kevin worked as a food runner there.

“Is it Kevin?” Rufus’s heart skipped a beat. Was his brother hurt? Was something wrong? Was—

“No!” Flynn looked alarmed at how he was worrying Rufus. “No, it’s the—it’s my—Dear Friend, she’ll be sitting there all alone.”

Rufus stared at him, understanding sinking in. “Flynn. It’s nine thirty.”

“Yes.”

“Your date was for eight o’clock.”

“…yes,” Flynn said miserably. “And she’s going to be wearing burgundy, and she’ll have a copy of _Anna Karenina_ with a red rose in it as a bookmark, and I’m supposed to be wearing a burgundy tie,” Flynn gestured at said tie, which he was dutifully wearing and had been all day, “and have a rose in my lapel.”

“Well that’s all very romantic,” Rufus said, “except for one thing.”

“What?”

“What am I doing there.”

Flynn pulled a small card out of his jacket pocket. “I can’t go to her like this. I’m a wreck. I can’t—after the day I’ve had—I can’t impose on her like that. She deserves for me to be in—in top form, so to speak, she deserves for me to give her my undivided attention, not to have me… upset about falling out with my best friend and losing my job and I’m not even sure how either of those things happened.”

He handed the card to Rufus. “It explains in there that I’ve been called out of town on an urgent family matter to see my brother, but I’ll be back in town shortly and I’ll write to her as soon as I am to set up a new meeting.”

“I—”

“Will you give it to her?”

“Of course.” Rufus looked back at Jiya.

“I’ll stay here,” Jiya promised, nodding.

“You’re the best,” Rufus told her, barely resisting the urge to kiss her on the cheek.

“Let’s hurry,” Flynn said. “For all I know she got tired of waiting already and left.”

They hurried out the door.

* * *

Jiya waited in the back room for Denise to come down—but someone entered the front door first.

Rufus?

Jiya peered out the door—and saw a man she didn’t recognize.

“Mrs. Christopher?” the man called.

“Ah, Mr. Keller.” Denise came down the stairs.

Jiya watched through the crack as Denise shook the man’s hand. “You said you had the report for me?”

“Yes.” Mr. Keller pulled a file out of his jacket. “Here it is. As you can see, it’s all in there—proof that one of your clerks has been embezzling from you for some time. Cleverly done, good numbers work, but we were able to trace it through and we had one of our men follow the clerk to the bank and all to move the cash.”

Jiya’s jaw dropped. Someone was stealing from Denise!?

“I… wish I could say that I was surprised,” Denise said tiredly, “but I’ve been having financial troubles for some time with this sore, even though our sales are supposedly up.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Were you able to trace who gave me this letter?”

Mr. Keller shook his head. “Anonymous letters are very hard to track.”

Jiya’s eyebrows shot up. Huh.

“Would you like us to pursue criminal charges against Miss Whitmore?” Mr. Keller asked.

Holy _shit_ , Emma!?

Denise looked like she was having a rather large holy shit moment herself. “Miss… Miss Whitmore? But I thought—”

“Yes, Miss Emma Whitmore, 614 Circle Court Road…”

“But…” Denise shook her head. “There’s another person who works here, who is a very close friend—he helps me handle the accounts—I thought…”

Holy fuck. That was why Denise had been acting so awfully towards Flynn! She’d thought Flynn had betrayed her!

Jiya could hardly wait to tell Rufus.

Denise sighed. “Never mind. I will be pressing charges, thank you, but after the holidays. This is our busiest time of year and I simply… I can’t take the time right now.”

“Very well. You just give us a call.”

“Thank you.”

Denise showed the man out, and then sank heavily down onto a stool. Jiya slipped out of the back room, her heart falling between her feet as she watched Denise’s shoulders start to shake.

She had never seen her boss cry.

“Denise?” she whispered, coming up quietly and placing her hand between Denise’s shoulder blades.

Denise started up. “Jiya. I—I thought you’d all gone.”

Jiya offered her arm. “How about I walk you home.”

Denise looked at her for a moment, then got out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I think that would be wise.”

Jiya carefully led her boss out of the shop, locking the door behind her.

* * *

The café was bustling with couples out for a romantic evening, as Rufus had thought. Mason did a good business here.

Rufus craned his head, but he couldn’t see anyone sitting alone. “Where’s the rose?” he whispered.

Flynn dug it out of his pocket and handed it to Rufus. It was a little… well… wilted, but oh well. He took it—and then tried to put it in Flynn’s lapel.

Flynn stumbled back, batting Rufus’s hands away. “No, what are you doing!?”

“You’ve gone this far, go the rest of the way!”

“No, absolutely not, are you insane!?”

“You’re seriously asking me that.”

“Just give her the letter, please, and thank you, Rufus. You’re a true friend.” Flynn turned and started to go.

Oh, hell no. Rufus stopped him. “Wait, hey, you’re here, don’t you even want to see her? Get a glimpse of the woman you’re in love with?”

Flynn looked like he had forgotten how to breathe. “Will you look first?”

Rufus sighed. “You’re seven years older than I am and you’re acting half my age, I swear to fuck…”

He turned and began to walk through the café. Nope, nope, nope, no…

Oh… _fuck_.

Sitting at a table by herself, wearing the same beautiful burgundy dress from earlier, a copy of _Anna Karenina_ on the table with a rose being used as a bookmark… was Lucy Preston.

Rufus blinked. Rubbed his eyes.

Nope. Still Lucy.

Hoooooo boy.

Rufus hurried back before she could spot him, returning to where Flynn waited hopefully.

At seeing the look on his face, Flynn looked terrified. “She’s gone.”

“Um… nope.”

“She’s married.”

“Ah, no.”

“She’s eighty years old.”

“Um, no, actually.” Well, this was one way to deal with the sexual tension that Lucy and Flynn had been denying for six months. “She’s actually quite, ah, attractive.”

“Attractiveness is a matter of personal taste and the look on your face says that something is terribly wrong.”

“Well. Um.” Rufus wracked his brain. “You know what? She reminds me of someone.”

“Who, an actress?”

“No, she actually—she reminds me of—she looks like—Lucy.”

Flynn dropped his jaw. “Miss _Preston_?”

“Yeah, she, uh, looks very, very much like Lucy.”

“What—why—I don’t like Miss Preston!”

That was a big fat lie but okay. “Well if you don’t like Lucy you’re certainly not going to like this woman.”

“They’re that similar!?”

“See for yourself,” Rufus said.

Flynn got a determined look on his face, gave Rufus an _I’ll show you_ sort of look, and then strode further into the café, towards the table that Rufus gestured at.

Well, this was going to explode spectacularly.

Flynn walked towards the table, and Rufus knew the moment his friend recognized who it was, because the face he made…

Well. Gargoyles had made less hilarious and more attractive facial expressions.

Flynn rushed back to Rufus, who put all his weight into stopping the taller man. “Oh, no you don’t, you’re gonna just leave her there!?”

“I can’t talk to her!” Flynn hissed. “After I spent six months fighting with her!? She’s going to laugh in my face! I wrote her all those—those letters and—”

“She wrote some letters too!” Rufus replied, shoving Flynn back. “I took you out of the box, I cut you open and so forth?”

Flynn glared at him.

Rufus glared right back. “She was just as sappy as you were. Just—just go up and talk to her, you never know!”

“It can’t be her.” Flynn sounded like he’d rather jump off the clock tower. “No, it can’t be.”

“Oh, so it’s a coincidence. She just happens to be here on this night. She just happens to have a copy of _Anna Karenina_ on the table. She just happens to be in the red dress. And she just happens to have a rose as a bookmark, in fucking December!”

“I can’t—I can’t be in love with Miss Preston!”

“How do you know until you try?” Rufus shot back. “And don’t you even try lying to me, Flynn, you have been attracted to that woman from day one, you just didn’t want to admit it. You want her to tell you when and where and how with a _yes ma’am_.”

Flynn gave him an _et tu Brutus_ look of deep, unmitigated betrayal. “There must be some mistake.”

“Well then, talk to her,” Rufus replied, handing Flynn his rose back.

Flynn shoved the rose into his pocket. “Fine.”

He turned and started to walk back towards Lucy’s table.

Rufus took his opportunity and booked it.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_I am glad you liked the Lang fairy books. I used to read them to my daughter. The Violet Fairy Book was her favorite._

_Please, do not feel as though you’re a trouble or imposing when I send you gifts. I would do far more than that if it got you to smile. Being able to gift you a few things here and there is far from an obligation—it is a privilege._

_As always,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Miss Preston.

Miss Lucy Preston.

Of all the women in the city, in the world, it had to be the one woman that he had been inappropriately and disastrously—interacting with, for six months, at work?

He crept closer—and Lucy looked up.

The look on her face was. Well.

Even if she was his Dear Friend, she obviously didn’t want him to be hers. “Ah, Miss Preston. I appreciate the look of horror on your face.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Lucy said dully. “Flynn, what are you doing here?”

“Celebrating,” Flynn said faintly. “How about you?”

“I’m meeting someone,” Lucy said. “A very important someone, so if you would be so kind…”

“Oh? You know this person?”

“Well of course I know this person, what kind of woman do you think I am?” Lucy didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Oh never mind, I know.”

Oh. Oh she wanted to play that game, did she? Flynn cleared his throat. “May I sit down for a minute?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, and just took the chair opposite her.

Lucy looked more alarmed than if the table had caught fire. “Flynn, no!”

“You won’t celebrate with me? Just one… small… little celebratory drink?”

“What on earth could you possibly be celebrating, ten years of straight sarcasm?”

Flynn chuckled. “No. Tomorrow is Wednesday, and I can sleep in as late as I’d like.”

Lucy looked a little guilty at the reminder of his loss of a job. “All right, one quick drink. But quick! And small!”

Flynn took the bottle of wine she had open in front of her and poured himself a generous glass. Lucy looked like she was wishing she could smash the bottle over his head. Her eyes narrowed. “Flynn, what are you really doing here? Are you spying on me to make sure I really had a date?”

“Who would I be spying for? Denise and I aren’t friends anymore, haven’t you heard?” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Yourself,” Lucy replied simply. “Flynn, I swear to God, if you don’t leave, I’m going to have to call for the maitre’d.”

“Yes?” Mason asked.

Lucy jumped and squeaked in surprise. Flynn had to bite back his laugh. “Ah, um, hello Mason.”

“You wanted something, Lucy?”

“Um…”

Mason glanced at Flynn. “Listen, Lucy, you know I love having you. But I try to make this a lovely spot for, well, romantic rendezvous. A place for lovers. Which I know is ironic since I’m not the romantic type myself. But it’s very hard to do when you and your husband insist on arguing in the middle of it all—can’t you do that at home?”

Lucy gaped at him, and Flynn realized, to his glee—that Mason knew him, and knew Lucy, and knew they were both friends with Rufus, but didn’t know that they weren’t married to each other, or indeed that they weren’t married at all.

He just about died laughing while Lucy spluttered. “No, this—this man—he is not—this is not my husband! This is a business associate!”

Mason’s eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t aware that you had a side job, Lucy.”

Flynn nearly fell off the chair laughing.

“We’ll tone it down, Mason,” Lucy told him. “I promise.”

Mason nodded, winking at them, and left.

Flynn managed to recover himself. “So—so you say you were waiting for someone? Someone you know?”

“Flynn, this is none of your business, could you please, please leave?”

“It just doesn’t seem right for a man to keep a woman waiting like this. Even if he is an old friend. A _dear_ friend.”

“I don’t wish to discuss this with you,” Lucy said, the hint flying right past her.

Flynn cocked his head. “What is the name of that tune? My mother used to hum it when I was a baby.”

“So did mine.”

“You know, Miss Preston, I believe we’ve finally found something in common. At one time we were both infants.”

“Yes,” Lucy acknowledged. “But I grew up.” She paused. “What if—what if he’s already been here and seen us together and gone?” She looked over at Flynn with a glare of such vehemence that he felt burned, branded. “If that’s what’s happened I will never forgive you, Garcia Flynn, never.”

Flynn snatched up her book over Lucy’s protestations. “Mmm, what’s this?”

“Don’t touch that!”

“ _Anna Karenina_.”

“Yes. It’s a book. Put it back.”

“And a rose…” Flynn faked a gasp. “Why Miss Preston, could it be that you’re a part of one of those lonely hearts letter writers?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Lucy snatched the book and rose back.

“Well… you know I did know a girl who was a part of that. Come to think of it… she was supposed to meet her man, and she was supposed to have a book with a rose as a bookmark. And he was supposed to have a rose in his lapel.” Flynn paused for dramatic effect. “The next day they found her left leg floating in the river.”

Lucy glared at him. “I will stab you with this fork.”

“And they never did find the rest of her.”

“Flynn if you don’t leave I will scream this restaurant down, do not test me. I have had two glasses of wine and nothing to eat since lunch, I will do it.”

That actually concerned him. “Miss Preston, are you drunk? Do you need me to walk you home?”

Lucy took a deep breath—and then let out an ear-piercing scream.

Flynn choked on his own spit.

Mason was there in an instant. “Lucy what the hell!? Don’t make me kick you out!”

Something protective in Flynn rose up in him before he could even begin to examine it. “There was a fly in her wine!” he hissed. “She swallowed it, wouldn’t you scream too!?”

Mason’s eyes bulged a little. “I—oh dear.”

Lucy faked a cough.

Mason took her wine glass. “I’ll just… ah… yes…”

Once he left them, Lucy sighed. “Flynn. Please. Please just go. I don’t know what I did to make you dislike me so much but haven’t you had enough?”

Flynn felt a deep sadness settle into his chest. “Miss Preston, have you ever really listened to me? Or looked at me? Really? Or did you just decide that I disliked you and you never cared to pay attention to the rest?”

"And what about you?" Lucy replied, acidic. "You act as though you know me, as though you know everything about me, and you don't! You don't know me at all!"

Flynn stood up, all the fun of teasing her gone. Lucy seemed to realize that something had gone wrong and stood up after him. “Flynn?”

He took the rose out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor as he walked out.

* * *

Mason found Lucy still sitting there after Flynn had gone. “Lucy?”

She jerked her head up. Her eyes were wet.

Mason sighed and sat down across from her, taking her hand. “My dear girl. How late is he?”

Lucy looked down. “Over two hours,” she whispered. She looked up at Mason. “Do—do sometimes—do sometimes you see men or women come in here, and they’re waiting for someone, and then the other person comes in, and looks at them discreetly and… and… and goes away without saying anything?” Her voice grew choked.

Mason squeezed her hand. “Sometimes. But you’re a beautiful woman, Lucy. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation and he’ll write to you and patch it up.”

Lucy swallowed and nodded bravely. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. Let me walk you home, you’ve had too much to drink, I think.”

Lucy wiped at her eyes. “I think I have. Thank you, Connor.”

“Of course.”

As he got up, he spied something lying on the floor near one of the other tables.

A rose, one that matched Lucy’s.

Oh dear.

Mason waited until Lucy was looking the other way, and then discreetly picked the rose up and hid it in his pocket.

Then he walked her home.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_You would be appalled to know how long I spent in the shops trying to find the perfect dress for meeting you. I don’t know how well dark red suits me, but if you think I will look good in it, then I’m willing to take the chance. I think I look presentable. I hope that you will agree when you see me._

_I will have to respectfully disagree with you on the matter of Byron versus Donne. I stand by it that Donne is the more romantic poet, and I do not mean the innuendos—I can well picture the smirk on your face—as if Byron wasn’t known for his own sexual escapades and wrote of nothing but chaste puppy love!_

_Speaking of writers who, as they say, frequented gentlemen’s clubs, have you read The Picture of Dorian Gray?_

_Playfully yours,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Alcohol in large quantities did not agree with her.

Lucy was never leaving bed again, not ever. Her head was pounding and she felt miserable.

Even more so because of Dear Friend.

How could he—how could he just abandon her without a word? It didn’t match anything else that she knew about him.

She just wanted to cry and cry for hours. The one person she’d trusted above all others, the one person to whom she’d poured out her entire heart—and he’d abandoned her.

A knock sounded on the apartment door. “Miss Preston?”

Ugh, who could it be?

Lucy dragged herself out of bed, blanket wrapped around her, and trooped to the door. “Who is it?”

She opened the door—and saw a very contrite looking Flynn standing there, with a small brown paper bag in his hand. “Oh. It’s you.” She closed the door in his face.

“Miss Preston!” Flynn banged on the door.

Lucy opened it, glaring. He was the last person she wanted to see right then. “What do you want? Did you think of something you wanted to say that you forgot to last night? If so make it quick, I’m not feeling very well today.” She collapsed onto the couch with her blanket, pulling it up over her head.

“Ah… I know you’re not feeling well. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Lucy pulled the blanket back down. Flynn did look extremely contrite. “What? How?”

Flynn shrugged, giving a bashful smile. “Well, you see… Denise stopped by my place early this morning. It seems that she had thought—someone’s been stealing from the shop and she thought that it was me, but it wasn’t. It was Emma. So she came to apologize, and asked me to come back, and then mentioned you were sick and… I said I’d stop by and check on you.”

“Oh.” That was… sort of sweet, actually. “Thank you. I’m glad that you have your job back, and that you and Denise patched it up.” Unless… “Wait.” She dashed to her feet. “You’re here to see if I’m really sick aren’t you? To make sure I’m not just getting out of work!”

“What? No!”

“Well I hate to disappoint you—here, I’m not all that sick, I’ll get my hat—”

She took a step and her legs gave out.

Flynn neatly caught her, holding her against his chest. Huh, he was very solidly built. “Miss Preston, please, look after yourself.” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You have a fever. Here.”

Lucy squeaked in surprise as he lifted her easy as anything, taking her blanket and then carrying her oh so gently back to her bed, carefully settling her back onto it and then pulling the blanket up over here. “You need to rest,” he said, his voice so oddly gentle and quiet, so unlike what she usually heard from him, that her breath caught.

She looked up, and met his gaze, and they stared at one another. She felt caught up in his eyes, and he was hovering over her, so close, the warmth of him calling to her…

Flynn straightened up and held out the small brown paper bag. “I got you something.”

“What is it?”

“Vanilla ice cream.”

Lucy snatched up the bag faster than was probably decent. She adored ice cream. “How’d you know I love this?”

“I asked Jiya and Jess.”

Lucy wiped at her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Best thing in the world when you’re sick, I’d get it for my little girl all the time.”

“You had a little girl?”

Flynn’s face spasmed. “Once, yes. Ah… you look like you’ve been crying, Miss Preston, are you all right?”

Lucy bit her lip. “I’m… you’re looking at a very disillusioned girl, Flynn.”

Another odd look crossed Flynn’s face, and then he gingerly sat down next to her on the bed. “Miss Preston, I will never forgive myself for last night, the way I acted. It was thoughtless and hurtful of me. I assumed things about you, acted as though I knew you, you were absolutely right, and…” He took a deep breath. “Would you believe me if I said that I wanted to get to know you? If—if you would allow that?”

“But you were right, Flynn,” Lucy confessed. “I was there to meet a man I’d been writing letters with… and he… he never showed…”

Tears started to flow again and Lucy savagely wiped them away, taking a quick bite of ice cream to cover them. “He wrote me such beautiful letters, Flynn, you have no idea. They were wonderful.”

“And he never showed up,” Flynn said in a strained voice.

Lucy shook her head, digging into the ice cream with abandon. At least ice cream never abandoned her. “I waited until closing.”

“I feel very responsible.”

Lucy shook her head. “It wasn’t just you, Flynn, I’m sure of it. But if—you see the thing is, if he’d cared at all, he would have written. A letter or a note or something, he would have said… but there was nothing… I trusted him, Flynn, I trusted him with everything.”

Flynn cleared his throat roughly. “Miss Preston, he will write.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do, I know it definitely.”

Lucy stared at him. “…how?”

“He… he told me himself,” Flynn said.

Lucy nearly dropped the ice cream. “He—himself?”

“Yes, yes Dear Friend!”

Lucy felt her heart leaping in her chest and kneeled up onto the bed. “What!? Dear Friend? When! How!”

“I… ah, you see, it’s very hard, to, ah, recall…”

Lucy launched herself forward with an energy she didn’t know she had and yanked on Flynn’s jacket, putting them nose to nose. “Try,” she ordered.

Flynn swallowed, staring at her. “Um. Okay.”

Lucy released him and sat back down, resuming her ice cream eating. “So you met him.”

“Yes.” Flynn nodded and stood up, starting to pace. “You see he’d—he—as I was leaving the café, a man ran into me, and he said, um, he said do you know that woman you were sitting with? And I said, well not really, we only work together. And he said, well you see, I was supposed to meet that woman tonight, but I have—I have an urgent family matter with my brother out of town, and I have to leave on the next train. And so he asked me if I could tell you, please, and that I should let you know that he would write you.”

Lucy put her ice cream to the side and launched herself at Flynn again, catching him around the waist and hugging him.

Flynn went as still as a statue.

“Thank you!” Lucy pulled away, staring up at him. “What did he look like, did he look like a businessman, or an artist, was he tall, or short, or…?”

“Well…” An odd light came into Flynn’s eyes. “He certainly looked well fed.”

“…well fed?” Lucy’s heart sank a little.

“Yes, to judge by appearances. Of course that’s not unusual in a man his age.”

Lucy swallowed. “His… his age?”

“Yes.” Flynn wandered over to her bookshelf, apparently not noticing or unconcerned with the fact that Lucy felt like she was having a stroke. “You have a wonderful book collection here, Miss Preston. Oh, _The Red and the Black_ , I’ve been meaning to read this. Might I borrow it?”

“What?” Lucy asked faintly. Was Dear Friend—was he old enough to be her father?

“I asked if I could please borrow your book? I’ll lend you one of mine.”

“What did you mean, ‘in a man his age’?” Lucy asked.

Flynn was still perusing her bookshelf. “Hmm?”

“You said that it wasn’t so unusual in a man his age, why, how old did he look?”

Flynn turned back to her, hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Oh, well… you realize it was a dark night, and he’d had an exhausting day, emotionally? I would guess around fif… no…”

Lucy’s heart sank.

“Six… no… seven…?”

Lucy wondered if this was what death felt like.

“It’s hard to say, really,” Flynn finished. “Possibly if he had some hair?”

Lucy keeled over, burying her head in her pillow. Oh, no. Oh _no_.

“What’s the matter?” Flynn asked, his tone casual. “I thought you were in love with this man.”

She popped back up at once. “Oh, I am, Flynn, trust me. I am. He’s the most wonderful man in the world. He’s soft spoken, articulate, kind and gentle and thoughtful—I’m deeply, very deeply—it’s just that I’d hoped…” She paused.

What was wrong with her? After all that she’d said to Jiya about knowing who he was inside, about appearances not mattering, and then she proved herself to be so shallow…

“I am ashamed of myself,” she admitted. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like. It doesn’t matter—what matters is that I know who he is. I know him, I do, and I love him, and the rest is all just… just trimmings.”

Flynn looked at her with an expression of such… such… she couldn’t even describe it. Hope, and sadness, and tenderness, all at once. “I’m glad to hear that, Miss Preston. And I’m sure your friend is as well.”

Lucy smiled and got up off the bed. “I feel so much better, Flynn, thank you for coming here—thank you for my life!”

Following an impulse, one she couldn’t quite name, she got up onto her tiptoes and softly kissed him on the cheek

When she pulled away, Flynn looked like the earth had shifted beneath him.

Lucy quickly turned to her dresser, busying herself getting paper and a pen, trying to ignore the way her heart seemed to stop and stutter for a moment. “I’ll write to him right now. Thank you, Flynn, truly.”

“Of course.” He paused, watching her as Lucy got onto the bed. “Have you finished _Anna Karenina_ yet?”

“Oh, yes, a long time ago.”

Flynn nodded. “So did I, but it’s… it’s remarkable how it stays with me. Maybe it’s the fact that… that I identify with Anna. More than I should, probably. That idea of following the one you love, even to the point of your own destruction. Every station platform is Anna’s platform, for me. I can even see her, in my mind’s eye, and she’s real to me. Stepping out—and I try to stop her, but she always vanishes in the smoke and the steam.”

Lucy’s heart gave a twist. It was touching, and soulful, and showed her that Flynn had been right last night—that she didn’t listen to him, didn’t really see him, know him, any more than he knew her.

But more than that, what he said was familiar. “That’s so odd, Flynn. Dear Friend has had the same experience.”

Flynn went a bit pale, his eyes widening. He looked like he wanted to smack himself in the face with a frying pan. “Is that so?”

“More than once.”

Flynn shuffled his feet, looking awkward, like a schoolboy about to ask the girl he liked if she’d let him carry her books. “Well I’ll… let you get to your letter.”

“Thank you again, Flynn.”

He nodded at her and started to go—and Lucy called out to him, before she could stop herself. “Flynn?”

He paused and looked back at her.

“I like you,” she told him. If only he knew how much. “I really do.”

Flynn gave her a small, tender smile. “Thank you, Miss Preston. I l—like you, too.”

She smiled and waved at him as he left.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_How you can think that Les Misérables is a better work than Hunchback of Notre Dame, I will never understand. I shall have to see if I can prevail upon you to change your mind when we meet in person._

_I’ve been informed that perhaps I should introduce a bit of color into my attire, and so in honor of your chosen dress I will be wearing a dark red tie. I hope you’ll forgive the, perhaps saccharine, gesture, but I’ll have a rose in my lapel. I thought it helpful to have as many identifying markers, so to speak, as possible. I’ve been informed by a friend of mine that many other people contrive such meetings after a long correspondence and I would hate to embarrass some poor random woman by sitting at her table instead of at yours._

_I heartily suggest The Worm Ouroboros if you are interested in more fantasy. The idea of a set of characters playing out the same loop over and over is a very interesting one and raises a great number of questions that I am eager to ask you about._

_As for Hemingway—I have heard many sordid rumors about his treatment of women and cannot abide Hills Like White Elephants. Perhaps Fitzgerald would be better?_

_With affection,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Flynn left the apartment feeling like he might actually pass out.

Lucy loved him. Lucy loved _him_.

She didn’t care what he looked like, or his age, or his job, or anything. She still loved him. He could have been a balding overweight man in his seventies and she wouldn’t have cared.

Looking back, it seemed insane that he could have denied to himself for so long that he had feelings for her. That he could have claimed to understand her and that he could have written her off when he truly didn’t know her at all—well he did, from her letters, but not as Lucy Preston. Just as she didn’t know him as Garcia Flynn.

But now he did know her, and he loved her, loved her to the point of bursting with it.

He felt giddy, like a schoolboy again, wanting to somehow declare it everywhere, paint it on walls, _she loves me, she loves me, she loves me!_

Except.

Flynn found his way to a bench and sat down. He still had time before he had to get to Christopher’s.

He hadn’t appreciated Lucy as herself. He had written her off and had been stubborn, harsh, sardonic. He had been attracted to her, and hadn’t known what to do with it, and he had taken out all of his frustrations with his life and with Denise out on Lucy. Unfairly, of course, even if she wasn’t Dear Friend, but it was even worse now knowing who she really was.

Now he knew, though, and he could fix it.

Or he could at least try.

Flynn put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. All right. He couldn’t go up to Lucy as himself. Last night had proven that. The look of horror on her face was branded into his mind forever.

And why would she be anything but horrified? He’d been awful to her. If he went to her now as Dear Friend, even if she would try to reconcile it… she wouldn’t be able to accept him. How could she? How could she reconcile the man who was so tender and intimate with her, with the man who teased her and never let her rest without a sarcastic comment?

No, he couldn’t reveal himself to her, not just yet. He had to make her like Flynn first. Not love, of course, he would never presume… but if she could at least like Flynn, then when she realized Flynn and Dear Friend were the same… she would hopefully, perhaps, if he was lucky, give him a chance.

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_How you don’t find Chaucer as dull as a brick I will never know, but you do agree with me that Nick Carraway was in love with Gatsby so I suppose I can forgive you just this once._

_If you will find a rose in December then the least I can do is find a rose as well. I’ll have it as my bookmark for Anna Karenina. We’ll be the classiest pair-of-pen-pals-meeting-for-the-first-time in the café, I’m sure._

_The longer the winter goes on, the more I long to fly to somewhere far away, somewhere warm. We could go to Rome or Greece and see the Coliseum or Parthenon. I want to lie on warm beaches with you and get lost in the waves and fall asleep in the sun. I want to do a wine tasting and walk tipsy through the streets, dancing in the squares with the street musicians. I want to jump into a fountain, throw in a penny and make a wish._

_I feel like I could lose my mind, and you’d steady me._

_Or perhaps it’s just the weather that is making me so._

_With warmth,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Lucy was not a stupid person.

It might have taken her a while, but she could put two and two together once Flynn had gone and she had a chance to actually think about things.

There were too many things that didn’t add up. Why would Flynn be at that café last night? He had just been fired by his closest friend, he wouldn’t be in a mood to celebrate anything. And then to say that he felt ‘very responsible’ for her current distress… and why would Dear Friend not give Flynn some kind of note to give to her, why would he not write to her, even if he truly had urgent business…

And, well. Lucy knew that people lied. They did. Dear Friend could look like anyone. Dear Friend could be a woman, even, for all that she knew (or cared). But she did not think him to be the way that Flynn had described. Not when he spoke about things like going on long walks, and swimming, and running around on his feet all day at work—things that would be difficult for someone who was heavyset. Not when he had on at least one occasion, she must find it somewhere—spoken about going to the barber’s, something a bald man would have no need for. And why would a man of such an age still have a job and be running around? And if he was that age—he had spoken of being widowed young, and of his daughter being lost when she was only five. He had lost them four years ago now.

If he was seventy, or even sixty, he could not have a nine-year-old daughter. He could not say that he was ‘widowed young’ if he had been in his fifties when he’d lost his wife. That was still on the younger side to lose a spouse you expected to live with until you were both in your nineties, but, still…

It was the principle of Occam’s razor: the simplest answer was usually the correct one.

And which was simpler? The convoluted explanation that Flynn had given her?

Or Flynn and Dear Friend being one and the same?

She got the letters out of her journal and read them, one after another, thinking back on all that she knew of Flynn.

And oh, it was like looking up and seeing the stars for so long, and knowing in a distant intellectual sort of way that constellations existed, only to one day look up and realize that you could finally see the constellations, could trace them with your finger, and then it was no longer simply stars up there scattered like diamonds but shapes, people, stories.

Well. She would write him a letter, apologizing for last night and asking him to try again. That would put the ball firmly not only in Flynn’s court, but in Dear Friend’s. Flynn knew who she was. He knew it all. As far as he knew, she didn’t.

Surely he would say something.

* * *

_Dear Friend_

_I am so sorry about last night. It was a nightmare in every way. But I hope that together we’ll be able to laugh about it, someday._

_If you would like… I would like to try again. Perhaps—you could come over for Christmas Eve dinner? Mother always wants me to bring guests home and even though you would meet her she will retire to bed early and we can walk back to my apartment after and have some time just the two of us. That is, if you would like. I don’t want to presume anything._

_Christmas has never been a huge event for my family but I know that it’s always been important to you and you must be very lonely after all these years, spending it alone. I would love for you to come and spend it with us. Please say yes. Let us have a second chance._

_With hope,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Flynn entered the shop looking like a man who’d faced a firing squad and somehow lived to tell the tale. Rufus joined Wyatt, Jiya, and Jess in staring at him.

“…you okay there?” Rufus asked.

“What are you even doing here?” Wyatt asked.

“Denise rehired me,” Flynn said. “There was… a reconciliation.”

“I’d hope here was,” Jiya said. “After the way I found her last night.”

“That reminds me,” Flynn added, “where’s Emma? I’m firing her on Denise’s behalf.”

“Why?” Jess asked. “I mean it’s great, but why?”

Flynn sighed. “Denise got a letter a couple of months ago, telling her that one of her clerks was embezzling from her. Naturally, since I know the safe combination and help her out a lot around here, she assumed that it was me. I’m the one with the easiest and most access.”

“Wait, is that why she’s been awful to you all this time?” Wyatt asked.

Flynn nodded.

“Dammit,” Rufus said. “I thought she’d know for sure it was Emma!”

Everyone stared at him and Rufus realized he might have said that out loud. “Um…”

Jess grinned at him. “Did you send the letter!?”

“Rufus!” Flynn hissed.

“That’s sexy,” Jiya said.

Rufus could feel his chest warming under the praise. “Um. Yeah? But I learned my lesson.”

“Yeah you did,” Jess said. “Next time, name the names!”

“That is not the lesson!” Flynn groaned.

Wyatt and Jiya nodded. “Yes it is.”

* * *

_Dear Friend,_

_I don’t have words for how sorry I am for the distress I caused you when I missed our meeting. I have racked my brains for a way to make it up to you and for you to be so generous as to immediately offer me a second chance means the world to me._

_I would be happy to join you and your mother for dinner on Christmas Eve. I have a close friend from the war and I usually join her and her family, but I’m sure she won’t mind—I think she will want to focus more on her family this year, after all that has been happening with her lately._

_Would you like me to bring anything to the dinner? Wine, perhaps? Is there any particular book or trinket your mother would appreciate?_

_I look forward to seeing you. Properly, this time._

_As always I am,_

_Your dear friend_

* * *

Lucy waited… and waited… and waited, all through December.

Everyone was counting down to Christmas. For once, Lucy was also counting down. Anticipation churned in her stomach every time that she went into work and saw Flynn. It felt like she could hardly even breathe every time that he spoke to her, waiting for him to confess.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just started… well. If she didn’t know any better she’d say that he was wooing her.

He asked if perhaps she wouldn’t mind if he would walk her to the bus stop. Lucy said she didn’t mind at all, and Flynn helped her to get on her coat and offered his arm to her, using his height to shield her from the winter wind as he walked her to her bus.

The week after that, he asked if she had time to get a coffee before her bus, and lent her one of his books. Lucy had to try not to slip up, to let on that she knew, as she shyly watched Flynn from across the table. She had never been shy with him before, ready to hurl insults and witticisms at any moment. But now… now she felt shy, waiting for him to make his move.

The next week, Flynn was walking her to her stop every night, they were getting coffee every night, and avidly suggesting other books of his she might like to borrow.

But he still wasn’t telling her who he was.

Well.

Dear Friend had accepted her invitation for Christmas Eve. He could find some excuse to get out of it, but perhaps…

“Did you have dinner?” Jiya asked. “With Dear Friend?”

It was the 24th and the shop was full of last-minute shoppers. No matter whether they were the early shoppers who got their Christmas presents early, the punctual ones who got them right on time, or the ones who rushed around at the last minute… Lucy hated them. Customers could go to hell.

“Yes,” Lucy replied, because technically she had.

“Oh, you just never talked about it, so…”

“Well you were so busy, I didn’t…” Lucy lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to force you to ask Rufus out if you didn’t want to.”

Jiya flicked her gaze over to Rufus, who was laughing about something with Flynn and Jess. “Hold this.”

She handed the box of lipstick she was holding over to Lucy, and then marched across the busy store to Rufus. “Hey, Carlin?”

Rufus looked at her—and Jiya grabbed his face, kissing him.

Wyatt, staring from one counter over, dropped the perfume he was holding, making it shatter on the floor.

Jess whooped and a few customers applauded as Jiya pulled back. “Do you want to spend Christmas Eve together?” she asked.

Rufus gaped at her. Flynn slapped Rufus on the back, and Rufus blurted out, “Yes, definitely, any—any night you want.”

Jiya grinned, kissed him on the cheek, and then waltzed back over to Lucy, taking the box of lipstick from her. “Thanks.”

Lucy burst out into laughter. She caught Flynn’s eye, and he grinned at her as he patted Rufus’s shoulder. Rufus looked rather shocked, and Jess was reminding him to breathe.

They finished dealing with the rest of the customers, as Jiya and Rufus were absolutely useless for the rest of the day. Wyatt had to bow out at some point in the afternoon, and Jess had a secretly pleased smile on her face that she wouldn’t explain to anybody, and so it was really a miracle that anything was getting done at all.

“Flynn,” Lucy said, as they waved out the last few customers and began to close up, “I was wondering, if you’d like—I know you don’t have any family—I was hoping you might join me for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“Where the hell have you been!?” Rufus asked as Wyatt returned through the back door.

“Getting me my Christmas present,” Jess said knowingly.

Flynn cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Oh, no, tonight is special,” Lucy insisted. “Dear Friend is coming over to visit, and I thought maybe—you could be there to bolster me. You know, help me out. I’m terribly nervous about meeting him and I figured, well, you could be there to pick up the slack if I falter.”

Flynn looked like he was frozen. “I… I wouldn’t want to…”

“Please say yes.” Lucy took a risk and reached out, seizing his hand. “Please.”

Flynn swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I’ll—of course. If you really want that.”

“I do.” Lucy let go of his hand. If there was ever a moment for him to tell her that he and Dear Friend were one and the same…

“Flynn!” Denise said.

They both jumped in surprise. For a moment, the rest of the world hadn’t existed. “Are you going to join Michelle and the kids and me?”

“Ah, actually, I’m going to dinner with—with Miss Preston and her mother.” Flynn looked like he was bracing for a lecture.

Denise’s mouth went slack and she tilted her head to the side, surprised. “Oh, well then.” She gave a small, but pleased smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you when the holiday is over, then.”

“Why don’t you go home?” Flynn suggested. “You’ve had a tough few weeks. Let me close up for you.”

Denise blinked in grateful surprise, then reached out and clasped his arm. “Thank you. If you’re sure…”

“I am.” Flynn looked at Lucy. “If you don’t mind, that is, Miss Preston.”

“Not at all.”

Denise squeezed Flynn’s arm, then let go. “I’ll do that then. Goodnight all!”

“Goodnight!” was the answering chorus, along with a _Merry Christmas_ from Wyatt and Jess.

“I think we’ll head out,” Wyatt said. “If that works. I’m all done with the stocking.”

“And I took care of the till,” Jess added, showing it to Denise.

“You’re all free,” Denise informed them. “Now I have to get home to my wife. And her sister. And her sister’s kids. And my kids.” Denise paused. “Flynn, you owe me for abandoning me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Flynn replied solemnly.

Denise waved at them all and headed out.

Jess hugged Lucy goodnight. “What are you so giddy about?” Lucy whispered.

“Wyatt’s going to propose,” Jess whispered back.

“And how do you know?”

“I told him to. He went out and got the ring this afternoon, that’s why he was missing.” Jess pulled back, winking at her, and Lucy gaped after her as she and Wyatt left the shop.

“Jess terrifies me,” Lucy announced to Flynn as he walked up to her. “But I’m okay with that.”

“It’s a part of her charm,” Flynn replied.

They all finished closing up, and then Rufus and Jiya departed to have the evening with Rufus’s mother and brother and Mason.

And then… it was just her and Flynn.

They put the covers on the counters, and turned off the lights, and locked all the doors. Lucy got her surprise packages out from the back room, and let Flynn help her put on her coat. “What are those?” he asked.

“Oh, presents. One my mother and one for Dear Friend.”

“Here, let me take them.”

“Oh, I—”

The present for her mother dropped to the floor, and began to play music.

Flynn laughed, picking it back up again. “You and those musical boxes.”

“Laugh all you want, but I happen to like them.”

Flynn set the package on the counter. “I will never forget you on that first day.” He pitched his voice up. “Oh, what is it madam? It’s a musical candy box.”

Lucy laughed. “I was so terrified and you were so awful.”

“I was,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “But I remember thinking…” He looked down at the floor, then back up at her, and there was something terribly fragile in his eyes. “I remember thinking, that’s the kind of girl I could fall in love with.”

Lucy stared at him. “But—but you were—I thought you hated me.”

“I know.” Flynn looked like he’d go back in time and undo it all if he could. “I was… I don’t have an excuse.”

“I had such a crush on you,” Lucy confessed.

Flynn dropped her other package. Lucy winced and was glad it was nothing breakable—she’d bought a copy of _The King of Elfland’s Daughter_ for Dear Friend.

Dear Friend who was hopefully Flynn.

“You—you what?” Flynn croaked.

Lucy took her packages back and stacked them in her arms. “I truly did. But… when you were… I didn’t know how…”

“I should have told you,” Flynn blurted out. “I should have said—how I was feeling. Instead of—I’m sorry. It could’ve all been so much easier.”

He wasn’t saying it. He wasn’t saying he was Dear Friend. Why wasn’t he? Unless…

“If only I’d said something,” she replied, wincing. If only.

Lucy started for the front door.

“No, no, I should have. I was the one being awful.” Flynn cleared his throat, then turned away. “If you don’t want me to join you for the holiday, I understand.”

“Oh.” Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she’d been mistaken. And now—now she was in love with two men, and how could she possibly reconcile… how could she…

She turned away, unwilling to let Flynn or anyone see her face in that moment.

“I am so sorry about last night,” Flynn recited. “It was a nightmare in every way. But I hope that together we’ll be able to laugh about it, someday.”

Lucy whipped around, her hand on the doorknob.

Flynn had turned back and was staring at her with a look of such—such heartbreak and tremulous hope that her knees nearly gave out.

“Dear Friend?” she whispered.

She had thought—she had hoped—but now that it was actually in front of her she could hardly believe it.

Flynn continued staring at her, his eyes dark, sad, and she realized—he thought she was disappointed.

“So I was right,” Lucy said. “It was what I’d hoped. That it was you.”

Flynn looked like he had been struck by a car. “You… you hoped?”

Lucy nodded. “I was so anxious. I was afraid that—that maybe you’d changed your mind, that I was a disappointment to you—”

“What?” That seemed to get Flynn moving again and he crossed to her, reaching out and taking her elbows, drawing her in. “No, no, I was—I was so tempted to tell you, Lucy, right when I first knew I was tempted but—I didn’t dare. Not when I’d been so awful to you, I had to make sure—that I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

Lucy almost burst out into hysterical laughter, caught between so many emotions—she didn’t even know where to begin.

But then—no. She knew exactly where to begin.

She dropped her packages, grabbed Flynn by the jacket, and pulled him in, kissing him.

Flynn made a startled noise against her mouth, his hands releasing her, but Lucy pressed in and Flynn wrapped his arms around her, holding her, and she fit so nicely into the crook of his arm, snug up against his chest, and she kissed him and kissed him and was for a moment certain she’d never stop.

When she did pull back at last—if only to breathe—the dazed smile on Flynn’s face was worth the pause. She had never seen him lit up like that.

Lucy fully intended to ask him to walk her home, at that point, but then Flynn kissed her that time, and she got her arms around his neck and he lifted her just a little bit off the floor and it felt like the very bones of them were fitting together perfectly and, well.

They ended up not walking home for a rather long time.

* * *

_My darling,_

_I didn’t want to wake you but wanted to leave this in case you woke while I was gone. There’s a Jewish bakery around the corner and I thought since we did all Christmas things last night that it was only fair we do a little for the other half of your heritage this morning._

_I hope that you know that’s what you are. My darling. My dearest, irreplaceable love. I am without words to express how grateful I am—how baffled at times I am—that you forgive some of the things I said and the ways I behaved, and that you choose to let me love you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if you’ll let me._

_And in case I didn’t make it clear enough last night—you were perfect. I already miss your touch and your warmth._

_I’ll be back soon._

_With love,_

_Garcia_

**Author's Note:**

> I would be remiss indeed if I didn't give you all the link to a place to download the 2016 livestream of the musical...
> 
> https://www.reddit.com/r/ProshotMusicals/comments/77svxs/she_loves_me_063016_proshot_pbs_edited_version/


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